


descent

by savedby



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11036199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: “Well, we’re a weird mix, aren’t we?” you say, and it’s true, three first round picks and you, in your tenth season and a reputation for bashing skulls. “Smile, or they’ll say you’re afraid to be stuck here forever.”Ebs laughs, and Nuge cracks a smile for your efforts. McDavid’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s less tension in the line of his back and he stops standing like a soldier just about to go to war.





	descent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hicsvntdracones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hicsvntdracones/gifts).



> Dear Hannah, I love you a lot, and even though it's not your birthday anymore, I wish you the very best in everything you do.
> 
> Also, thanks to Dell, for looking this over and for your encouragement. Dell also did the podfic of this story, and I really recommend listening to it after you read the story. It turns it into something entirely different and it really struck me when I first listened to it.

 

 

Andy is the first person you call after they tell you about Edmonton. 

 

“Looch!” he yells into the receiver, because of course he already knows, “You’re coming here!”

 

You laugh, and listen to him chatter about all the things he’s going to show you when you get there, all the things he loves about the team. You think about being twenty and meeting him for the first time, and how he always told you not to be so serious.

 

“What about McDavid?” you ask.

 

“What about him?” Andy asks, the sounds of his children loud in the background. He shifts the phone, mutters an admonishment in a tone so familiar it has Milan snapping to attention.

 

“What’s he like?”

 

“Brilliant,” Andy says, immediately, but it’s not what you asked, so you wait. “He reminds me of Bergy, a little. Except if Bergy didn’t have Marchy to drag him kicking and screaming out of his shell.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“He’s a good kid,” Andy says softly, “he needs someone to look out for him.”

 

“Dully noted,” you say, and it startles a laugh out of him, surprised and familiar.

 

“You’ll like it here,” Andy promises, “just, uh. Bring a warm winter coat, okay?”

 

You look outside, into the warm LA sunshine, and sigh.

 

 

*

 

 

The first time you really meet McDavid is when he gets presented as captain to the media. He introduces himself as ‘Davo’, but he looks so severe when he’s saying it that the name feels strange in your mouth.

 

You thought you’d feel different with the A stitched on your jersey. More important, somehow. But you don’t. Maybe if it had still been black and yellow, it would have been different. 

 

The locker room is quiet, with just the four of them in it. Nuge and Ebs look nervous, and McDavid is unreadable, so he must be terrified. 

 

“Well, we’re a weird mix, aren’t we?” you say, and it’s true, three first round picks and you, in your tenth season and a reputation for bashing skulls. “Smile, or they’ll say you’re afraid to be stuck here forever.”

 

Ebs laughs, and Nuge cracks a smile for your efforts. McDavid’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s less tension in the line of his back and he stops standing like a soldier just about to go to war. 

 

And that’s how you record your first victory in an Oilers jersey.

 

 

*

 

 

You’re genuinely confused when they tell you that you’re going to watch a clip of a young Connor McDavid in an interview. The video still makes you smile though. He looks even younger, and excited. Less guarded. He talks about Sidney Crosby, which is pretty standard fare, but you’re pretty lost as to why it’s relevant.

 

“...maybe a big winger, like Lucic,” Connor McDavid says on screen, and you’re taken off-guard by the spark of delight that rushes through your veins at hearing that he wants you.

 

 

*

 

 

When you get to the locker room the next day, it’s obvious that at least some of the guys have seen the interview. Nursey catches sight of you and grins.

 

“Hey, Davo, your big winger is here!” he yells. It’s funny how you kicking his ass last year had made him much less afraid of you than everyone else is.

 

Your eyes zero in on McDavid in his stall, rolling his eyes and a light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

 

“I can’t believe you’re trading me for that old used model,” Leon says, grinning at you without a care in the world. 

 

“Be nice, Leon,” Ebs chides him, “Looch is his teenage dream, you can’t compete with that.”

 

“He’s still a teenager, so does that mean he still dreams about him?” Leon asks to laughter.

 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” McDavid says, and your eyes meet across the room. 

 

There’s something about him you’ve noticed, a feeling honed across a decade and a hundred different locker rooms. You tilt your head just so, exposing your neck, and raise an eyebrow. He flushes cherry red and looks away.

 

And that’s. Something.

 

*

 

He doesn’t kiss you until halfway through the season, even though you keep silently offering yourself to him, using every subtle trick in your extensive playbook.

 

Still, he takes you off-guard, appearing in the doorway of your hotel room, serious and pale, his eyes shining.

 

“Don’t punch me if I got this wrong, because I’ll probably die,” he says, and then he crushes your mouths together.

 

You let the door fall shut behind him and you let him back you up, until you fall onto the bed, and he’s straddling your waist, and in the warm light of the bedside lamp he’s the most brilliant thing you’ve ever seen.

 

You realize that your mouth had a hard time wrapping around ‘Davo’, because you wanted to say ‘Connor’ instead, wanted to breathe it into the space between your bodies over and over, as his knuckles skated across the skin stretched over your ribs.

 

 

*

 

 

At best, you’re a third line winger in love with the captain of the Edmonton Oilers, who happens to be almost ten years younger. At worst. Well. Connor will never see you at your worst, so that doesn’t matter.

 

He kisses you gently, like a bruise, marking you for another decade.

 

He touches your cut and broken knuckles with a reverence he never holds in his mouth, and you thought you understood, but maybe you’ve got it all wrong after all.

 

Most days it doesn’t even matter. You don’t have anything to prove, to anyone. Connor, on the other hand, has everything to prove, to everyone. You think some day that’s going to hurt, but not just yet.

 

* 

 

The streets of Edmonton turn slick, coated with fallen snow. Daylight is scarce, and cold besides, and you wear a jersey that doesn’t mean much to you and you watch out for the boy that means everything.

 

At night your curl around Connor in your bed. He always runs hot, burning in your bones and warming you from the inside out.

 

He presses his mouth to the nape of your neck, and you blink, mind muddled with sleep, and you realize you don’t know which one of you is the one doing the protecting.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is somewhat an independent companion to my Connor-centric gen piece [Staircase](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8555536). Knowledge of that isn't necessary for this, but it might give you more feels.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] descent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357481) by [frecklebombfic (frecklebomb)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklebomb/pseuds/frecklebombfic)




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